


peccadillo

by gingersnapdragon



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Incest, Incest Play, M/M, Modern AU, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersnapdragon/pseuds/gingersnapdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm and Anders play while Carver and Garrett are at school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	peccadillo

Anders graduates a year before Garrett, and at first Malcolm is afraid that will mean Garrett will be tempted to skip school to hang out with his older boyfriend. The second day of the semester, though, Malcolm realizes this isn’t the case.

Anders showed up bright and early and offered the boys a ride. Carver, frowning, said he’d rather walk. Anders shrugged, _suit yourself_ , and Garrett slid into the front seat, leaning across the console to kiss Anders hello. It was messy and sloppy and far too passionate for first thing in the morning in the broad daylight outside the house, but Malcolm stood in the doorway and watched it anyway, suddenly missing the tastes of both those mouths. He even toyed with the idea of calling Carver back for a quick tumble, with a promise to drive him to school to make up for lost time, but he shoved it down. _There are times for being a father, and this is one of them._

It’s hard to concentrate on his work at first, but he scolds himself until he manages to forget about the thrumming frustration in his body. For a man who has more than his fair share of sweet young things in his bed, he’s been sorely lacking in company. Garrett has been spending all his nights out, enjoying the last few days of summer before school begins again, and Carver has been keeping to himself. Malcolm was worried at first that he’d pushed Carver too far, and then worried that Carver had simply changed his mind, but Carver has been showing more tiny signs of affection – kisses, heated looks, even a long embrace with a purposeful roll of his hips. But when Malcolm has made suggestions, Carver has said _maybe later_. Malcolm gives him the time and space he asks for, but in the meantime, his bed is colder than it’s been in a while.

He’s just settled in to the grind of the spreadsheets when there’s a knock on the door. He answers it, but he isn’t expecting to see Anders standing there, thumb hooked in his jeans pocket, grinning.

“Garrett said you might want some company,” he says. “Can I come in?”

Malcolm steps back to let Anders pass, and he knows he leaves plenty of space but somehow Anders still manages to brush up against him, warmth and surprising muscle in his thin shoulder and a faint lingering hint of incense. He thinks it's by accident at first until Anders cuts a mischievous glance upward through his eyelashes, and then he realizes nothing about this is accidental.

He's hard almost instantly, having had only his hand the past couple of weeks while both his sons have had other priorities, and there's a smile at the corner of Anders's mouth that is only making it worse.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Malcolm asks, and Anders looks thoughtful.

"Just water's fine," he says. "Or whatever you have."

Malcolm brings two glasses into the living room, and when he hands one to Anders, he sees the pale scratch marks there and remembers their last conversation on the couch -- cats and cereal bowls and playing hard to get _but not often, and not well._ He finds himself wondering what game Anders is playing now and sips his water against a suddenly dry mouth.

The clink of the glass on the coffee table is not unexpected, nor is the way Anders slides into his lap, somehow shy beneath the bold maneuver. He rests on Malcolm's thighs, and he seems so far away from where Malcolm wants him, but if anyone saw them, they would say Malcolm is too close to this boy, legal but just barely, his son's boyfriend. Malcolm wants to get closer.

"Garrett said to keep you company if you'll let me," Anders says, sliding forward on his knees. He leans in, and his breath is hot against Malcolm's ear when he murmurs, "Will you let me...if I call you Daddy?"

Malcolm can't help the way he grabs Anders's hip, fingers digging in to hold him in place, making sure he can't back away. He's so hard now he hurts, and he wants to throw Anders down on the couch and pound into him until he screams, harder than he fucks Carver, even harder than Garrett. But he knows the wait will make it better, sweeter, so he just turns his head enough to lick along the rough line of Anders's stubbled jaw. It's answer enough, but Malcolm says anyway, "Yes." Anders laughs, wicked and low, and Malcolm yanks him closer. " _Yes._ "

"I like it when you treat me rough, Daddy," Anders whispers, and it's not just a line. Malcolm can tell in the way his body turns fluid the harder Malcolm grips him, the way he's sliding against him like a snake, eyes dark with arousal, cock hardening against Malcolm's hip.

For a split second, Malcolm thinks about taking him to bed -- and he might, if Anders sticks around for another go after the first one -- but a quick and dirty fuck on the couch is too delicious to resist.

"I'm a bad man," he says, and Anders nearly purrs in agreement, rubbing against him now like a cat in heat. "Fucking my son's boyfriend on the couch while he's in school."

Anders sounds almost drunk when he answers, chuckling, "Is that better or worse than fucking your sons?"

They don't even get their clothes off, and Malcolm likes it that way; Malcolm's slacks open just enough to pull out his dick and Anders's jeans pulled down to his upper thighs, underwear bunched in the denim and still caught on his cock. Malcolm reaches down to adjust the cloth, but Anders stops him.

"That looks like it hurts," Malcolm murmurs, and Anders nods, gasping.

"It does," he pants, and Malcolm hears the unspoken, _that's the point_.

There's a little tube of lube between the cushions from ten days ago, when he watched football with Carver and then fingered and sucked him to orgasm, and it works now, opening Anders up for him.

"Hurry," Anders says, and Malcolm falters at the raw hunger in his voice. He slicks himself and pushes in, fast -- too fast, but Anders's loud cry isn't one of protest -- fingers curling around Anders's hips. He looks down and watches himself pull out, just a bit, and sees the cluster of freckles scattered across the small of Anders's back. It matches the ones on his nose, the ones that make him look so innocent, and Malcolm thrusts in again, liking the fantasy of corrupting this boy even though he knows he's not the first one to be here.

Anders is louder than Carver or Garrett; he likes the sound of his own voice, broken moans and whimpers and "Daddy, please," and "Harder, Daddy, fuck me!" Malcolm likes it too, and he can't find a reason not to do what Anders wants. It's hard and fast, and Malcolm's long overdue orgasm sneaks up on him, sharp and hot and perfect. Anders shouts, almost a scream, and whimpers as Malcolm's last thrusts go deep and stay there, and when Malcolm finds his coordination again, he reaches down to finish him off, only to find a sticky mess in the briefs still caught on Anders's dick.

They collapse forward onto the couch, and when Malcolm tries to pull out, Anders reaches back to hold him where he is, gradually softening inside Anders's trembling body. He relents, wrapping his arms around the boy and kissing the back of his neck where sweat has plastered his hair to his skin.

"Thank you," Anders whispers. "It's been a while."

Malcolm is dozing in a hazy afterglow, so it takes the words a moment to register. "A while?" He frowns. "But I thought you and Garrett..."

Anders laughs. "Oh yeah. Definitely. But an older man has a different touch, and I've missed it."

Malcolm shouldn't want to know, but he does. "Who...?"

Anders sounds dreamy and distant when he says, "Mr. Thekla -- Karl -- when I was in the ninth grade. He was my first. He told me we couldn't, shouldn't, but... I wanted him. And he wanted me." A contented hum, and he snuggles back into Malcolm. "We both got what we wanted...until he retired."

Malcolm kisses his neck again and finally pulls out, even though Anders whimpers in protest. "I've still got a few more years to retirement," he says. "And a bed that's more comfortable than this couch."

"Yes, Daddy." Anders grins up at him as he pulls away, and Malcolm thinks he's going to be dead before he has a chance to retire if he tries to keep up with these boys.


End file.
